The Wilkerson InstituteChapter 3 Wednesday
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The Wilkerson InstituteChapter 6: Saturday free porn video
I woke the following morning to that warm, not-alone feeling I always associated with my marriages. I felt okay, not hung over badly, just enough to know I had been a naughty boy last night. Elyse and I had made love twice when we got back to the bedroom. The first time I had her bend and grab her knees by the bed. I plowed her from behind. Afterwards, still unslaked, I had turned her around and pushed her back onto the bed. Climbing on board, I had shoved her top above her tits while she wrapped her legs around my waist. She was really turned on last night and began raking her heels along my buttocks and spine, all the while squealing and grunting. By the time I came, we were both panting heavily, and I felt like I had really racked my balls. Just great!
Now, I needed to piss, bad. Silently lifting the covers from my naked body, I slid out of bed and headed for the can. I closed the door and pissed against the rim to cut down the noise, but to me it sounded like Niagara Falls. Next, I took a handful of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and stuck my face under the tap to down them. Brushed my teeth, too. My mouth felt like Force Recon had been marching through and stopped for a battle or two. I wiped my hands and face on a towel and crept back to the bedroom. Might as well get a little more sleep.
Elyse had other ideas. Just as I was dropping off again, I felt her stir. Either she had heard or felt me get up. She too went into the bathroom, but then I heard her moving around the room near the bed. Cracking open one eye, I saw her putting a leg into an exercise suit she had pulled out of her gym bag. More calisthenics! Well, bullshit to that!
Making a long arm, I thrust my hand out and between her thighs. Raising it upwards, I firmly but gently clamped onto her naked cunt. Elyse couldn’t have been more surprised by a tarantula being dropped down her dress. With a loud shriek, she jumped and fell back onto the bed. Now it was my turn to yell. I thought she was going to break my arm! She hopped upright again and spun to face me.
“Jesus Christ!” she cried. “What was that for?”
“Trying to haul you back to bed,” I said, massaging my wrist.
“Hmmph. I was going to work out some.”
“Fuck that shit,” I told her. Reaching out again, I put my hand behind the nearest leg. “Let’s work out here.” I tugged her towards me.
Elyse snorted in derision, but let the leotard slip from her hand and down her leg. Stepping out of it, she bent over and lifted the sheet. Scanning my body, she remarked “I guess you are ready for some exercise,” and smiled.
I just grinned back and shifted over on the bed. I patted the sheet and Elyse slid in next to me. Turning on her side she gave me a deep and passionate kiss. She had brushed her teeth, too. I sidled up close and began to run my fingers along her body, stopping between her thighs. Elyse began to squirm, and I could tell she didn’t mind breaking training.
We ended up in an interesting position. Elyse lay flat on her back and lifted the leg nearest me. I lay on my side and spooned up next to her, and she guided me into her. Then, legs in alternating positions, sort of X like, we began to screw. This was an absolutely tremendous position to watch her and work on her tits and nipples! In addition, it’s a great position to have a conversation in.
“So, what do you want to do today?” she asked, gently rocking against me.
Are you kidding me? This would do just fine! I told her so.
“Seriously!” she protested. “Even you can’t do this all day.” She gave her pussy a good squeeze. “Besides, you need to eat, to restore strength.” Another squeeze.
Oh yes, I could. Those pussy clamps were wonderful! “Breakfast in bed. Lunch, too. Maybe even dinner,” I grunted out.
“Bullshit!” Elyse began to slowly rub her fingers over her clit. Her squirmings were becoming more heated. My response was to thrust more deeply. Without uncoupling, Elyse turned away from me to true spoon fashion, and clamped her legs together. Well, two can play that game. I continued the movement and rolled her onto her belly, straddling her from behind. Now, my dick firmly buried in her tight and twitching twat, I began to really fuck her. I began to ram it to her, as she moaned and cried for more. She came twice before, sweating and straining, I spewed my seed towards her womb.
But to a certain extent she was right. I was still tired and rolled off and fell back asleep. When I woke an hour-and-a-half later I heard the shower running. Sitting up, I noticed Elyse’s leotard missing from the floor where she had stepped from it. Whereas our exercise had made me sleepy, it had woken her up. She had undoubtedly done her calisthenics and was now bathing. I got up and put on my bathrobe.
Leaving her to bathe in peace I headed for the living room. I called room service for two orders of eggs and bacon, then went into the kitchenette to make coffee. By the time I heard the shower stop, I had coffee made and was sitting on the couch, watching the news.
Elyse came out of the bedroom, dressed in a matching robe and drying her hair. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she greeted me.
“Morning. Coffee’s on the counter.”
She went to the counter. Pouring, she commented, “Typical male. Roll over and go to sleep. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”
I threw a small pillow (What do you call those things they put on couches, anyway?) at her and missed. Elyse simply laughed and picked it up. Bringing it and her coffee over, she tossed it next to me and bent over, kissing my bald spot. I would have grabbed her, but she’d have dumped hot coffee in my lap.
“Are you making fun of my hair?” I asked.
“Just your lack of it,” she laughed, skipping out of arm reach. She continued to dry her own luxuriant tresses.
“I’m not bald, I’m follically impaired,” I pronounced. “Be kind or I won’t let you have breakfast.”
The beautiful girl’s face brightened. “Breakfast? Goody! I’m starving. What’d you order?”
“Eggs, bacon, juice ... you know, the works.”
“Great. So, what do you want to do today?”
I looked Elyse over and she looked pretty good. Her robe had loosened somewhat, and I saw a long leg and a bit of cleavage. “I told you already.”
Elyse snorted. “Seriously! This is your last day here. And besides, you’ve got a luncheon meeting, remember?”
How’d she know that? I hadn’t told her. Must have gotten it through the grapevine. So, did she know my plans? Our plans? I stayed quiet on the subject. Best talk to Wilkerson first. “That still leaves this morning,” I replied, arching my eyebrows.
Elyse snorted again but headed back into the bedroom. “Talk, talk, talk,” she said, then closed the door.
A few minutes later a knock on the front door and a muted “Room Service!” announced the arrival of breakfast. I tightened the robe around me as I walked to the door. Opening it I found a tray being pushed by a pretty, young girl. She wheeled it in, and I helped her unload the trays onto the dinette table. Just as she was leaving, Elyse came back into the room. I guess she was going to do trashy today. She had on a sheer red nightshirt, open except for a single button at the waist, bright red crotchless panties, long red fishnet stockings, and red high heels. She would have been less provocative naked wearing a sign saying, ‘Fuck Me!’ Wow!
As I stared, she sat across from me at the glass topped table. “Well, are you going to sit down, or what?” she asked. I fumbled the chair out and sank into it, never taking my eyes from her. Through the glass I could see her clearly, and she knew it. She planted her feet apart and spread her thighs wide. Holy shit, she was going to really give me a show! After sipping her juice, she reached a hand behind her back and came out with a fair-sized dildo. Placing it at her pussy lips, she inserted it and then slowly pushed it into the hilt. I stared, wide eyed, as she flicked a small switch, and it began to hum. Then, vibrator humming, she began to eat. “Well? I thought you were hungry?”
I arrived at Wilkerson’s office a few minutes late and was greeted by Becky. “Mr. deFrame? Mr. Wilkerson asked if you could meet him in the bar for lunch.” I simply nodded in agreement and waved good-bye. Very pretty girl, that Becky.
I could always blame Elyse for the delay. After that rather amazing breakfast, she had pulled the vibrator out and walked around the table. Pushing my chair out, she had simply straddled me and fucked me there at the table. Afterwards, she had gone back to the bedroom, while I, winded, put the plates and whatnot on the cart and pushed that out the door.
I figured on taking a shower and a shave, but Elyse had other ideas. After freshening up, she had changed into a backless black teddy that laced up from stem to stern and black high heels. More trash, and delightfully so! The rest of the morning went that way. Elyse would come out in some marvelously slutty outfit and fuck or suck me silly, then go back to the bedroom and change. Fortunately, she did allow me enough time to recuperate, at least barely. And she had an amazing ability to raise the seeming dead.
Finally, I had to push her away. Locking the bedroom doors behind me, I called out to her to wake me in time for lunch. She laughed uproariously at my surrender and retreat.
I found Wilkerson in the bar at the same table as before. A fetching barmaid placed a pair of drinks before us as he greeted me and shook my hand. “I assume everything is still going swimmingly?” he asked.
I nodded and said “Yeah, just great. So, what happens now?”
Wilkerson smiled. “Why, now we eat lunch.”
I laughed, and we ordered from the hovering barmaid. All barmaids should dress that way! We chatted about my trip into town last night until lunch was served, then as we dug in, Wilkerson pulled some papers from a jacket pocket. “I have the preliminary contracts here. I figure we discuss the terms and then we can have Becky do it up final. All right?”
“Sure. But I thought the terms were already set? Your Mr. Wilson explained them to me. I’ve arranged a wire transfer to your account in the Caymans following my approval. I hope you aren’t changing things on me. I’d be very disappointed.” I had stopped eating and was giving Wilkerson a hard and cold look.
Wilkerson put his fork down and waved his hands. “No, no,” he said in a reassuring tone, “Nothing of the sort, really. Let me explain.”
“Please do.”
“There are really two contracts involved. The first remunerates the Institute for arranging a personal service contract with Ms. Miller. This is what you have made the arrangements for, and nothing is changed. No extra fees or charges. Everything is as you understand it.”
Mollified, I slowly nodded agreement. “Okay, then what about these terms?”
“They relate to the second contract, the personal service contract with Elyse. Consider this as an investment. All investments require maintenance and upkeep. If you were to purchase a Bentley, you’d still have to buy gas and oil, right? And you wouldn’t expect the dealership to provide these, correct?”
I began to catch Wilkerson’s drift and gave a slight nod.
He continued, “In the same vein, surely you must realize that the fee involved could not begin to support Elyse in New York City for a three-year term, that being the standard agreement. Obviously, you were expecting to have certain cash outlays in this regard. These are the terms I mentioned. Your arrangements with Elyse herself.”
This was much better, and a wave of relief came over me. “Well, I thought you knew she was staying with me?”
“I suspected as much, but one’s never sure in these matters. There are three basic arrangements we make for the girls.” Three’s again! I motioned for him to continue. “First, you have domestic servant relationships. While providing, um, shall we say, special services? But mainly, maids, cooks, waitresses, that sort of thing. You would obviously be expected to provide some sort of living quarters.” Jack sprang to mind. I’d have to ask him.
“A second sort is a non-live-in companion. A mistress, if you will. Again, suitable accommodations are necessary. You fall into the third category, that of live-in companion.”
“Hmm, I see your point. I had figured on her staying in my apartment.”
Wilkerson nodded and continued, “Exactly. But what of spending money, clothes, and so forth. I need to sit down with our new patrons and discuss these things. I’d like to offer a few suggestions if I may.”
“I’m all ears,” I replied. And I was! I had never considered some of this, figuring on handling it on the fly, as it were. “Please.”
“Very well. First, money. While Elyse will obviously have no rent costs, she will still need spending money. If nothing else, if you end the relationship at the end of the term, you can’t just throw her out on the street, penniless. I suggest a few thousand a month.”
Wow, I hadn’t figured on that! But thinking it over around a mouthful of ribs, I could see the point. While I couldn’t see that happening, you never knew. Three thousand a month, three years, thirty-six grand a year, one-oh-eight total. Not a problem, really. Less than my ex-wives cost me, that’s for sure. And no alimony. I grunted approval and Wilkerson continued.
“Decent health insurance, as well. Perhaps you can arrange something through your firm?”
“Sensible,” I replied.
“And operating expenses, of a sort. That stipend is Elyse’s, really. A savings account. Unless you plan on making all purchases for the two of you, she’ll need some spending money. Perhaps another thousand a month.”
“What?” I exclaimed. Operating expenses were rising steeply.
“Consider. Are you planning on buying all the food? Her clothes? Makeup? Drugs? And then there’s that lovely trip to the drugstore once a month, I’m sure you’d love that. As you can see, things mount up. Unless I’m sadly mistaken, you were planning on doling out cash as needed.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess I had been planning on doing that.” I felt rather foolish admitting this and reddened.
“Nothing wrong with that. I suggest that you arrange a Visa or Mastercard with a preset monthly limit. Maybe a thousand. Then give her the balance in cash. Remember, much of what she’d be spending, you’d be paying out anyway. Food for instance, or clothes and such.”
“Anything else?”
“No, not really. Your friend Jack has made similar arrangements for Teresa, and like you, the first time he came down here I explained it to him, much as I’ve down with you.” We both smiled at the mention of my friend. “That’s all I wanted to discuss. I simply want to put some numbers down in writing.”
I nodded, satisfied. “Make it three thousand and two thousand.” After another bite, I commented “You know that last bit might not go too far, if we plan something big. Some fancy party dress or something.”
“There’s a clause in here about extraordinary expenses not counting against these figures. Sort of a force majeure. Really, these are more bottom lines than anything else. I can assure you, no woman ever born has ever protested if a man wanted her to spend more.”
This time we both laughed. We finished lunch and headed back to his office. Entering, he handed the notes to Becky for revision. “It’s all in Word,” he said. “She just puts in the amounts and spits it out to the laser printer.”
“We use the same thing,” I commented.
We settled into armchairs to wait for the laser printer to spit. I turned down the offer of a drink, and Wilkerson spoke up. “A last comment, if I might. Advice, if you will.”
“Sure,” I told him. What the heck, right?
“Well, this is something new for you. You must always remember that you’re dealing with another human being. This isn’t a dog or cat you can take out on a leash. Women need some sense of self-worth and independence. An element of freedom is necessary in any smooth relationship.”
I gave him a semi-confused look. Leash?
He continued, “Hmm, I never can explain this properly. You’d think by now I’d have it down pat. Anyway. To put it bluntly, it will never work out if you expect Elyse to prance around all the time as your personal Playmate of the Month, your own personal mindless sex kitten. These girls have been trained for that, yes, but they expect more, all women do. What I’m trying to say is, give her some freedom. If she wants to go to college, let her. If she wants to work somewhere, it might be a good idea. Keep her cooped up for three years, and it will seem three decades. If it lasts that long. Do you get my drift?”
“Actually, I do,” I said. “I had never thought of just locking her up in the apartment. Would she want to go to college?” An interesting idea. I suspected mad, torrid sex could only go so far.
“I have no idea. That you have to talk about with her. And your apartment. Where will she be staying? In your bedroom? Do you have a second bedroom available?” I nodded yes. “Let her have her own room. She might never use it, but she’ll have it, her own little piece of the world, where she can retreat to when necessary. And respect it. Don’t go in there unless she asks. Follow me?”
“Hmmm, yes. I suppose I can see the need, although it’ll take some work. And I’ll probably need to put in an exercise room as well ... maybe convert the study,” I said, half to myself.
After a few moments musing silently, I noticed the office door open, and Becky delivered the finished contracts and left. We read through them in turn, then Wilkerson slid a phone across the coffee table towards me. I placed a call to my bank and gave a coded instruction. Fifteen minutes later the phone rang again, and Wilkerson received confirmation of the wire transfer. We stood and he shook my hand, then ushered me out. As he opened the door, he asked me my plans for the evening.
“Nothing in particular. We hit the town last night. Any suggestions?”
“Actually, yes. First, you and Elyse will be leaving tomorrow. Traditionally, her closest friends will be throwing her a going away party in her dorm room tonight, late. She really wouldn’t want to miss it, so expect her to leave you with a substitute this evening. And Saturday nights, the girls really like to let their hair down. There’s usually a real wingding down in the night club. I think you might find it, er, interesting.”
I smiled and said I’d think about it. As I headed out, Becky told me that Elyse had left word she would be in the Nautilus room, if I wanted to drop by. Then she stood and headed into Wilkerson’s office, trailed by a slim redhead with amazingly long legs. Well, it was Saturday afternoon, after all.
I found the Nautilus room without mishap and pushed the door open. Inside were four large contraptions, the full set of gizmos with weights and beams and such. I never liked these any more than I liked calisthenics. Three were in use now, Elyse and two other girls, all pumping and puffing. All wore spandex exercise outfits, but Elyse had definitely the most extreme of the three. Last night she had described a trashy exercise getup, and this went to the max. Her suspender suit barely consisted of a thong bottom whose thin straps curved up and around her breasts, framing them. The bandeau bra was quite small, cupping her full breasts but barely covering her nipples. Every pump and puff jiggled her tits like a bowl of Jell-O. But despite the getup, she wasn’t just showing off. She was working hard, sweat running down her red face and off her body, her long, dark hair matted with perspiration. She nodded when I came in.
“Afternoon,” I said. “Having fun?”
Puffing, she grunted out “Yeah. Join me?”
Shaking my head, I replied “Not in a million years.” I sat down on the free machine. “Just watching, thank you very much.”
Elyse snorted in derision, to which I just grinned and settled back to watch. She had her arms on some counterbalanced weights, pushing them forward and together in front of her before letting up and letting them spread her arms back behind her. Good for the pectorals, I’m sure. Maybe she was serious about rug burns. Reminded me of exercises we made the frat pledges do outside the girl’s dorms. I looked around the room. A gym bag, undoubtedly Elyse’s, was under her stool, along with a large towel. The other girls, cute blondes, but nowhere near as impressive (at least, to me), were working on leg lifts of some sort. In some ways, this place reminded me of the gyms you see in commercials for fitness centers, nothing but beautiful young women in spandex. The reality, of course, is nothing but fat, middle-aged housewives in jogging suits.
The other two left shortly thereafter, waving at Elyse with ‘See you tonight.’s.’ Elyse, stopped her pec pumps and shifted around on the seat. Placing a leg on each side of a spring mounted Y-frame, she began to press it together and release it with her knees. She was very well-muscled. Her thighs rippled with the effort. This was a truly inspirational sight, as the minuscule crotch of her thong suit began to ride up between her pussy lips. In short order, considerable pink was showing. I could feel my own crotch beginning to stir, and Elyse noticed. Smiling, she adjusted her suit (actually ending up pulling it higher into her cunt!) and asked, “Sure you don’t want to join me?”
Tempting, very tempting indeed. But I didn’t like the idea of just anybody wandering in. I declined. “Not right now. Maybe another time.” Maybe exercise equipment would be a good idea, after all!
Now that she wasn’t working her upper body, she had regained the wind to talk. “So, everything go all right with Mr. Wilkerson?” she asked.
“Yep. Papers all signed. We can fly back tomorrow. Say, what, do you have a passport or something?”
“Yes. Uh, thanks. You’re really a sweet guy, you know?”
Now it was my turn to snort in derision. “I know a couple of women who could give you an argument on that one.”
“What? Your exes? Mental defectives. So, what were they like? Do I look like them?”
I shook my head at the thought. “Not even close,” I said. “Janie, my first wife, had your color hair, but nothing else matched. Short, pretty in a plain sort of sense, freckles, maybe ten pounds too heavy. And Tanya? Blonde, tall, leggy, slim. Fashion model type.”
“So, how’d you marry them?”
I thought back over the years. Presently, I spoke up, “Janie was my college sweetheart. Married me right out of college. We were together eight years, some good, some bad. Tanya, I married on the rebound, I guess. Three years, all incredible, some incredibly bad. Been on my own since.”
“No kids, right?”
“Nope.”
“So, what happened?” She stopped her workout and lay back against the seat, winding down. Unconsciously, she readjusted her outfit, recovering her nipples where they had peeked out, and hiding her twat.
“Well, I told you about Tanya.”
“Fooling around, right?”
“To put it mildly.”
“And your first wife?” she asked.
“That’s a bit longer story.”
“So, tell me.” She stood and grabbed her bag. “Come on,” she said, leading me towards the showers. Throwing her towel over a hook, she turned on one of the showers. “Sure, you don’t want to join me?” she asked, peeling off her outfit.
Her height, or lack thereof, was a problem we would have to work out someday. But not now. I just smiled and said “No. I’ll just watch. But thanks anyway.”
Watching Elyse shower was a treat in itself. She lathered up all over and luxuriated in the steaming spray. From under the jet, she called out, “So?”
“So what?”
“So, what happened with Janie?”
Oh. “We just grew apart. She wanted a husband who was going to stick around, a real nine-to-five guy. Steady, dependable, regular hours. And that wasn’t me, at least in those days.”
“How so?”
“Well, I mean, right after we got married, the Corps shipped my sorry ass off to the garden spot of the Middle East. And then shipped me back in pieces. That was really hard on her. Then, when I got out, it was long days at work and long nights at night school. What really tore it was when I quit IBM to start my own company. The hours were even longer, and there was no steady paycheck for the longest time. She just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“So, she left you? For that?”
“Some people can’t handle it. I’m probably as guilty as anybody. I suppose I should have seen the signs. But I was too involved with my own problems to notice. Or care, I guess.” Somehow, talking to a nude girl half my age taking a shower was a lot easier than talking to someone else. Although a lot stranger, looking back on it.
“What happened to her?” asked Elyse.
“Who? Janie? A few years later I got a card from her. She was marrying an accountant. We exchange Christmas cards. She lives in a development on Long Island, three kids, mortgage, the whole works. Just what she wanted all along.”
Elyse turned off the water and began to towel herself off. “And then you married Tanya?”
“Yeah. Christ, what a fucking screwup that was!”
“On the rebound, huh?”
“No shit! A fucking trophy wife, only she wanted to be on everybody’s mantle. And mean? Boy, was she pissed when I held her to the terms of our prenup.”
“Smart guy. Most men don’t get one,” sympathized Elyse.
Another snort from me. “If I was so fucking smart, then why did I marry her? Thank God my lawyer insisted on one. He says he knew the first time he met her I’d need one.” We both laughed at that.
Elyse wrapped the towel around herself, which wasn’t really too effective in covering her. I mean, she had a lot more curves than that towel did. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a hair dryer and plugged it in. Taking out a brush, she turned on the dryer and did her hair in a mirror. I sat on the counter, catching glimpses of her through the gap in the towel. Finally, hair dried and brushed loose, she turned off the noisy machine, over which we couldn’t talk anyway.
“Did they do, umm, anything, er, well you know, that, I mean, uh, you want me to do?” she stumbled out, blushing.
It took me a few seconds to comprehend what she was asking. Then it was my turn to blush. I cleared my throat self- consciously and said, “No. Not really.” What a question! But then I thought about it. That’s why I was here and why Elyse was coming home with me, right?
“Everything was pretty normal, that way,” I continued. “It certainly was with Tanya, anyway. Very adventurous lady, that one. Too adventurous, in the end.”
“Adventurous, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“You just did,” said Elyse.
I smiled and shrugged. “Well, you know I used to shave her. Very sexy girl. Long legs, liked to show them off, which was just fine with me. Not exactly beautiful. Striking, I’d say. And she really liked to do it, too. Anytime, anyplace. And anyone, as it turned out.”
“And your first wife? Conservative there, too.?”
I had to think that one over a bit. Pursing my lips, I ran my hand over my face before I answered. “Sort of. Yes and no. I mean, she’d do anything I asked. Anything. But I had to ask. She never initiated anything in our entire marriage. Ever.”
“Never?” asked Elyse, looking mildly shocked. Taking off her towel, she tossed it into a bin. Out of the bag she pulled a dress, stockings, and high-heeled sandals. She scooted up onto the counter next to me and shook out a stocking.
“Not that I can recall,” I replied, shaking my head.
Elyse slipped on the stocking and straightened it on her leg, then shook out the second. “Was she, you know, frigid?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. Frigid women don’t have orgasms, right? At least I don’t think they do. And Janie came. Maybe not every single time, but I’d think I’d have known if she didn’t cum in eight years. She seemed to be enjoying it. A lot.”
The second stocking slipped on, and Elyse began to put on her high-heeled sandals. “But she didn’t start it, huh?”
“Nope. I guess that was the husband’s job. I’d buy her nightgowns and stockings and the like, but she’d never wear them unless I told her specifically. Never wear dresses unless we were going out. Ever.” I hopped off the counter and took Elyse’s hand as she climbed down. She adjusted her stockings, lace-topped thigh highs, and put on her dress.
“What about the sex?”
“Same thing. She never once asked for it. Never reached for me at nights, no early morning wake-up calls, no quickies or nooners, unless I asked or started it. I mean, I could walk up to her in the kitchen and stick it in her face, or push down her pants, and she’d take care of it quite nicely, then and there. But she’d never do what you did this morning, that fashion show and whatnot.”
“Too bad,” said Elyse. She turned her back to me. “Zip me, please?” She had put on a sleeveless, mid-thigh length, slip dress made from a flowered rayon print. Spaghetti straps crisscrossed to a low, zippered back. Neck and shoulders and a fair bit of cleavage showed. Very nice. We were back to classy. I zipped. “Thanks,” she said.
She tossed her stuff into her bag and slipped her arm in mine. “I’m thirsty,” she said. “Let’s get a drink.”
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